Thanks and Thanks and Ever Thanks
by ilovetvalot
Summary: It's Thanksgiving at the BAU. When the turkey is delivered ALIVE, hilarity and hijinks ensue as our merry band of profilers are forced to perform their own play...Death of a Turkey. TEAM FIC JJ/Ro, Ho/Em, M/G & Reid, of course. Four Chapters
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: My co-author and I would like to announce that our core stories (Sunday and Monday weekly publications) will be on hiatus for the weekend after Thanksgiving (an American Holiday on November 25, 2010). Due to familial obligations, we do believe there will be a week break on those ongoing stories. We will continue to publish one-shots and shorter stories through the holiday week.**

**Also, we're drawing near the close of our first annual Criminal Minds Profiler's Choice Awards. WE CURRENTLY HAVE NINE DAYS LEFT TO VOTE FOR OUR FAVORITE AUTHORS AND STORIES. Please remember to try and spare a few moments over the upcoming days and VOTE for your favorite authors and stories in the "Profiler's Choice Awards" at "Chit Chat on Author's Corner" forum. You have through the end of November 30, 2010 to let your voice and vote be heard, and we want to hear from each one of you. If you don't know much about forums, links can be found through either my profile (ilovetvalot) or my awesome co-author (tonnie2001969). Remember, anyone that wants to help advertise the awards has our unending gratitude, and there is also a short blurb you can use on our profile pages.**

**We also want to take a moment and remind all those participants that have signed up for the Criminal Minds Christmas Fic Gift Exchange that we have just over a month to complete our gifts and publish them for our recipients. If anyone has any questions, please contact us via private message.**

**And finally, we'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their continued support of our stories. We truly appreciate each review, favorite, alert and private message. It means a lot to us. Please let us continue to hear from each of you!**

* * *

**Thanks and Thanks and Ever Thanks**

**Chapter One**

Jennifer Jareau choked back a laugh at the completely irritated look on David Rossi's face as she shifted her son on her hip and turned her gaze from the man beside her to the caged bird in front of them.

"I can't believe this," Dave growled, blinking again as he eyed the gobbler in front of him.

"Well, it's a big turkey," JJ said mildly, pressing a kiss against her son's temple as the active baby attempted to reach for the gobbling bird. "I heard you tell the guy on the phone that you wanted the biggest one they had."

"Yeah, but I assumed that he'd be plucked and dressed when he arrived," Dave muttered indignantly, stomping across the hay strewn floor of the barn toward the oversized cage.

"Well, you hunt turkey. Is this really a problem?" JJ asked as Dave dropped his hands to his hips and stared down at the hapless bird. And if she wasn't mistaken, the turkey was staring back at him with something akin to a challenge in his turkey eyes.

"You got it in one, Jen," Dave muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "I hunt turkey. This isn't a hunt, babe. This is a...a slaughter," he grimaced, watching the turkey cock his head quizzically.

"For a turkey that was born to die," JJ pointed out helpfully, bouncing a chattering Henry on her hip.

"Not by my hand," Dave yelped, turning to look at her with astonished eyes. "I can't kill a defenseless animal...it goes against every hunter's instinct in my body. There's no sense of fair play...no fighting chance...no..."

"No chance Penelope Garcia won't kill you if there's not a bird front and center on your dining room table this afternoon," JJ reminded him with a raised eyebrow. "If you remember correctly, you fought the battle for the Thanksgiving turkey and won. She won't let you forget that, you know."

"Don't remind me," Dave muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face as the turkey gobbled his two cents worth. "Oh shut up," he glared at the bird, wondering for the fourth time this morning if it was possible to sue his neighbor for negligence. "Nobody asked you."

Lips twitching, JJ lifted Henry up against her chest, pressing her hand against the little boy's soft head as he burrowed underneath her chin. "Henry and I are going in the house. We'll leave you to your...hunt."

"Gee, thanks," Dave grumbled, staring morosely at the turkey as he felt JJ press a kiss to his whiskered cheek.

"You're welcome," JJ called over her shoulder as the barn door swung shut behind her. "Remember, we need to get the turkey in the oven by eight to eat at one."

"Nothing like a deadline," Dave muttered under his breath as he stalked toward the locked metal cabinet in the corner of the barn. Quickly unlocking it and pulling out his rifle, Dave resolutely turned toward the turkey.

"Don't look at me like that," Dave groaned, the gobbler's bug eyes blinking slowly behind the metal bars of his cage. "A bullet will be a lot quicker than anything you would have experienced anywhere else," he reasoned to the bird lamely.

"Gobble, Gobble," the turkey objected, scratching his clawed foot against the bottom of the cell he waited inside.

"I realize that," Dave sighed, completely ignoring the obvious fact that he was conducting a conversation with a bird. "It isn't fair, but it has to be done," he said, lifting the gun and sighting the defenseless turkey in his crosshairs.

"Gobble, Gobble, Gobble," the turkey seemed to cluck indignantly, his feathers rustling inside the metal container as he tripped toward the back corner.

Grimacing, Dave promised, "It'll be quick. Trust me, bird, if you knew Garcia, you'd willing agree to the sacrifice," he explained, his finger hovering against the trigger hesitantly.

"Gobble," the turkey returned weakly with one spasm of his wrinkled neck, as if pleading for a last ditch stay of execution.

"Yeah, I know," Dave sighed heavily, lowering the gun in resignation as he walked toward the cage. "A hunter can't shoot a caged animal," he agreed, his fingers quickly releasing the clasp on the cage and opening the door. "So, give me a run for you money," he said determinedly, stepping back and waiting for the turkey to walk out.

Staring down at the bird as it took a few uncertain steps out of the cage to stand in front of him expectantly, Dave waved his hands. "This only works if you run," he huffed. "Shoo, turkey! Flee for your life."

"Gobble, Gobble, Gobble," the turkey appeared to argue, its head moving in time to its reply.

"What do you mean? You're refusing to run?" Dave moaned, staring down in horror at the bird in front of him. "Here's your chance...make it a fair fight. Run!" Dave complained, flapping his arms and stomping his feet, hay scattering around his ankles.

"Gobble," the turkey returned.

Had that bird just raised an eyebrow at him? Great. It was just his luck to have a suicidal gobbler delivered to him on Thanksgiving morning.

"Please?" Dave begged weakly, watching as the bird shuffled in front of him, evidently unworried or unaware of his coming fate. "I hear that great turkey coop in the sky has all the feed you can eat," he cajoled, nodding helpfully.

"Gobble, Gobble," the turkey chortled obstinately.

"Well," Dave growled, propping his gun in the corner as he strode toward the barn door, "Fuck you, too."

XXX

Hearing the back door of the kitchen slam shut, JJ turned from the counter to look at the livid man standing on the welcome mat, stomping the mud off his boots. "Well?" she asked, arching a blonde brow heavenward.

Glancing from JJ's expectant face to the faces of Hotch and Emily, sitting at the kitchen table, Dave frowned. "When did you two get here?" Dave said, ignoring JJ's question for a moment as he stepped into his warm kitchen.

"Garcia told everyone to be here by seven to help with the cooking," Hotch shrugged, taking a sip from his coffee mug as he leaned back in the wooden chair. "I brought Emily," he said, nodding toward the brunette beside him. "What's going on?" he asked carefully, noting the lines of strain around his best friend's mouth.

"We had a small disruption with the turkey," JJ said straight-faced as she rinsed Henry's breakfast plate in the sink, her sparkling eyes the only sign of impending laughter.

"What kind of disruption?" Emily asked, glancing toward Dave as she placed her own coffee cup on the table.

"It's alive," Dave retorted huffily, shucking his jacket with a jerk and hanging it on the peg by the door.

"As in, "Gobble, gobble," it's alive?" Emily asked, her eyes widening as she flicked her eyes around the room.

"Uh huh," JJ chuckled, drying her hands on the dish towel by the sink. "And I'm assuming by the look on your face that said gobbler is still among the living?" she asked Dave as she propped a hand against her hip, narrowing her eyes as she watching his jaw tighten.

"It's not as easy as you might think," Dave muttered, brushing past JJ to wash his own hands.

"How difficult could it be to shoot a caged bird?" JJ asked, obviously exasperated. Glancing toward the digital clock on the nearby stove, she declared, "Dave, seriously, we need to get that thing plucked and dressed before Garcia gets here."

"First," Dave huffed, reaching for the dishtowel she had just abandoned, "a hunter can _not_ shoot a captured animal. It violates the spirit of the sport and..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," JJ said, waving an impatient hand. "A good hunter must give the hunted a sporting chance, yada, yada, yada...You do realize that if that bird isn't dead when Garcie gets here that you run the very real risk of being served for Thanksgiving dinner yourself, right?"

"Wait," Hotch said, holding up a hand, dropping his coffee cup down to the wooden table as he scooted his chair back. "You were going to shoot the bird?"

"I was," Dave nodded. "Until I realized the animal was suicidal. I let him out and the poor bastard just stood there," Dave shook his head, wondering how he had missed this part of animal psychology in the past. "Like he was waiting for the great turkey axe to fall!"

Shaking his head as he watched his long time friend, Hotch's lips twisted. "There's a reason for that," he said knowingly.

"Oh, yeah?" Dave snorted, rolling his eyes as he canted his head. "What's that, Aaron?"

"You ordered the gobbler from that farmer down the road, right?" Hotch asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Dave nodded, accepting the cup of coffee JJ passed him, letting his hand wrap around the heated mug. "So what?"

"Dave, the turkey was waiting for the axe to fall. It's not a wild turkey. It's domesticated."

"Like I said," JJ said emphatically, slapping Dave's chest with the back of her hand, "Born to die."

"That just sounds so wrong," Emily shuddered, grimacing as she wrapped her arms around her waist.

"But, true," Hotch said, shrugging his shoulders as he reached for his coat.

"Too bad," Dave shook his head, taking a healthy sip of the roasted brew. "I'm not killing an animal that just stands there. I can't do it. A hunter never..."

"Would you stuff the hunting crap?" JJ groaned, reaching over to pinch his side. "Garcia is going to kill us all. If you recall, she wanted to be in charge of the turkey, Dave."

"No, she's not," Hotch murmured, pulling his winter coat around his shoulders and pulling the buttons into place.

"Where are you going?" Emily asked in confusion, turning toward Hotch.

"We are going to neutralize the turkey," Hotch informed her with a wink. "C'mon, Prentiss," he said, grabbing her coat and tossing it to her, watching with a grin as she easily caught the garment. "It's time to go have your first true Thanksgiving experience."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: My co-author and I would like to announce that our core stories (Sunday and Monday weekly publications) will be on hiatus for the weekend after Thanksgiving (an American Holiday on November 25, 2010). Due to familial obligations, we do believe there will be a week break on those ongoing stories. We will continue to publish one-shots and shorter stories through the holiday week.**

**Also, we're drawing near the close of our first annual Criminal Minds Profiler's Choice Awards. WE CURRENTLY HAVE EIGHT DAYS LEFT TO VOTE FOR OUR FAVORITE AUTHORS AND STORIES. Please remember to try and spare a few moments over the upcoming days and VOTE for your favorite authors and stories in the "Profiler's Choice Awards" at "Chit Chat on Author's Corner" forum. You have through the end of November 30, 2010 to let your voice and vote be heard, and we want to hear from each one of you. If you don't know much about forums, links can be found through either my profile (ilovetvalot) or my awesome co-author (tonnie2001969). Remember, anyone that wants to help advertise the awards has our unending gratitude, and there is also a short blurb you can use on our profile pages.**

**We also want to take a moment and remind all those participants that have signed up for the Criminal Minds Christmas Fic Gift Exchange that we have just over a month to complete our gifts and publish them for our recipients. If anyone has any questions, please contact us via private message.**

**And finally, we'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their continued support of our stories. We truly appreciate each review, favorite, alert and private message. It means a lot to us. Please let us continue to hear from each of you!**

* * *

**Thanks and Thanks and Ever Thanks**

**Chapter Two**

"Why exactly do you need my help with this?" Emily Prentiss asked hesitantly as she walked across the grass toward the aged barn housing the bird that, evidently, refused to meet its fate peaceably.

"You're going to help me catch it," Hotch informed the woman beside him with a slight smile, his breath condensing in the cool fall air. Dressed in jeans and a pale yellow sweater this morning, she looked lovely despite the reluctance he saw shining in her eyes. "I'd have brought Jack out here with me, but we'd have run the risk of him adopting the turkey as his new pet."

"And you think I'm the better partner in crime?" Emily snorted, glancing up at his amused face, letting herself enjoy his handsome face.

"I can't exactly see you down on your hands and knees trying to pet the gobbler," Hotch teased, his grin growing wider as they neared the barn.

"Uhmm," Emily faltered, wrinkling her small nose in distaste, "No. To my recollection, fowl are quite unsanitary."

Trying not to laugh at the disgusted grimace overtaking her delicate face, Hotch simply nodded as they made their way to the barn.

Pausing abruptly about ten feet away from the structure, Emily stilled Hotch with a light hand on his arm. "Ah, Hotch," Emily said uncertainly, her lips pursing. "We're not exactly armed for battle here. How exactly are we going to neutralize the turkey without a weapon?"

"We have a weapon," Hotch stated calmly, wriggling his hands in her face. "These," he added.

"Wh-what?" Emily gasped, her expression horrified as she cocked her head. "You aren't proposing that we..."

"...kill the turkey with our bare hands?" Hotch supplied helpfully.

"You said that entirely too comfortably," Emily murmured, taking an unconscious step backward.

"It's a very effective method, Emily," Hotch said reasonably, enjoying the revulsion he saw chasing across her elegant features. "Have you ever visited a farm, Emily?" he asked evenly.

"A farm? I...well...no," she shook her head. "I've been to a zoo though. Does that count?"

"I'm afraid not," Hotch grinned, dropping a hand to his jean covered hip. "Prentiss, you do know the time honored way of killing a turkey, don't you?"

"Do I look like I possess that kind of knowledge?" Emily pursed her lips, glaring up at the handsome man in front of her...one that looked entirely too self-satisfied to her way of thinking.

Licking his lips, he wondered how to explain the coming process to her. Deciding Emily would appreciate blunt honesty best, he said, evenly, "You subdue the turkey and break its neck, Em, usually by swinging it around in a circle."

"Pardon?" Emily asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise as she took a half-step backward.

"It's effective and quick," Hotch said defensively as he watched her face contort in revulsion.

"You do realize that you sound a little bit like a serial killer right now, right?" Emily asked with a grimace her eyes narrowing.

"I was raised on a farm in Alabama, Emily. It's not my first time at this rodeo," Hotch teased. "I assure you that my method is an accepted technique."

"Tell that to the turkey," Emily yelped, nodding toward the barn. "I'm sure he'll think it's a great way to die when he's sailing through the air."

"Once the neck is snapped, there's no pain, Em. He'll be paralyzed," Hotch tried to explain helpfully.

"Oh, that's better," Emily snorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "His last moments will be filled with the knowledge of his imminent demise."

"Emily," Hotch said patiently, "do you want to explain to Penelope Garcia why there's no turkey for dinner?"

Thinking of the enthusiastic technical analyst's response to that information, Emily winced. She refused to take total responsibility for the lack of the centerpiece at today's festivities.

"I didn't think so," Hotch murmured, drawing her hand in his and pulling her toward the barn. "I promise, you won't have to kill the turkey. Just help me corral him so I can catch him, okay?"

Nodding, Emily grudgingly allowed Hotch to lead her inside the darkened barn. And she had a very distinct feeling that this was not going to be the adventure it was cracked up to be.

XXX

Thirty minutes later, as Aaron Hotchner braced his hands against his thighs and caught his breath, three things had become glaringly obvious.

First, he was more out of shape than he thought. Gasping as he angrily eyed the gobbler in front of him, he truly knew that if he ever managed to touch hand to feather, he was going to take incredible pleasure in wringing that incredibly cunning turkey's neck.

Second, Emily Prentiss would never have a future as a farmer's wife. Her pale horrified face as he'd chased the rascally bird to and fro in the barn had assured him of that salient truth. He half believed at this point she was actually rooting for the turkey. And he knew, without a doubt in mind, that she was enjoying watching him sprawl in the dirt, his ineffective attempts to catch the bird leading to more than one fall.

Third and most importantly, this damn gobbler didn't want to die, his agitated squawks and gobbles echoed in the barn as he ran on his turkey toes. More than once, Hotch had eyed the rifle in the corner and wondered if he could get off a shot and end this farce once and for all. Because one thing was sure… despite being bred in captivity, this stupid animal had a stubborn wild streak in him a mile long.

Dusting his hands against his dirty jeans, Hotch slowly advanced across the barn toward the turkey. One good lunge and he'd have the little bastard. He just had to bide his time.

"Gobble, gobble," the turkey squawked as his beady eyes met Hotch's.

Watching as the turkey flapped its wings and jerked his head, almost as if to say, "C'mon! Come get some!" Hotch leapt, his hand grazing the animal's tail feathers as he fell with a jarring thud against the ground, his back protesting the sudden gravity change.

Lifting his head painfully, Aaron watched the bird run toward a wide-eyed Emily, pausing in front of her.

"Get him, Emily," Hotch roared, struggling to come to his knees in spite of the spikes of pain overtaking his posterior.

"What?" Emily shrieked, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

"Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobble," the turkey complained loudly, his eyes glowing angrily as they stared up at Emily.

"Em!" Hotch yelled.

"Don't just stand there and yell at me! Run, turkey, run!" Emily screamed, taking several steps backward as Hotch finally climbed back to his feet only to grab his back and fall back to one knee.

"Emily, grab the turkey," Hotch demanded with a gasp.

"The hell I will!" Emily yelped, her frantic eyes going to Hotch as the turkey turned to run. "I'm not strangling anything in cold blood!"

Groaning Hotch fell forward, making another futile lunge for the turkey as it passed. Was that damn bird laughing at him?

Resting his head against his arm as he caught his breath on the ground, Hotch felt a sting pierce his backside as the turkey pecked him madly.

"Now, that's just undignified," Emily giggled from the safety of the other side of the barn.

Groaning, Hotch shook his head as he attempted to pull himself out of the line of fire.

Evidently, pride really did goeth before a fall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: My co-author and I would like to announce that our core stories (Sunday and Monday weekly publications) will be on hiatus for the weekend after Thanksgiving (an American Holiday on November 25, 2010). Due to familial obligations, we do believe there will be a week break on those ongoing stories. We will continue to publish one-shots and shorter stories through the holiday week.**

**Also, we're drawing near the close of our first annual Criminal Minds Profiler's Choice Awards. WE CURRENTLY HAVE ****EIGHT**** DAYS LEFT TO VOTE FOR OUR FAVORITE AUTHORS AND STORIES. Please remember to try and spare a few moments over the upcoming days and ****VOTE**** for your favorite authors and stories in the "Profiler's Choice Awards" at "Chit Chat on Author's Corner" forum. You have through the end of November 30, 2010 to let your voice and vote be heard, and we want to hear from each one of you. If you don't know much about forums, links can be found through either my profile (ilovetvalot) or my awesome co-author (tonnie2001969). Remember, anyone that wants to help advertise the awards has our unending gratitude, and there is also a short blurb you can use on our profile pages.**

**Want to win some free Christmas cash? We're giving away a $5 Amazon gift card to the 200th voter in the Profiler's Choice Criminal Minds ****Awards on FF. Net (funded entirely by the moderators). We have well over one hundred voters already, so who knows...you could be the 200th and win the awesome Amazon card!**

**Also...since we deeply appreciate everyone who has voted and will vote...we are also giving away another $5 gift card to a lucky voter that we will draw randomly. This could be voter number one..seventy-four...or three hundred! Both gift cards will be sent by email, so you don't have to share any personal information to claim your prize! We will notify the winners by PM when the awards are complete.**

**We also want to take a moment and remind all those participants that have signed up for the Criminal Minds Christmas Fic Gift Exchange that we have just over a month to complete our gifts and publish them for our recipients. If anyone has any questions, please contact us via private message.**

**And finally, we'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone for their continued support of our stories. We truly appreciate each review, favorite, alert and private message. It means a lot to us. Please let us continue to hear from each of you!**

* * *

**Thanks and Thanks and Ever Thanks**

**Chapter Three**

"I can't believe you're mad at me," Emily Prentiss muttered as she supported Hotch's rapidly sagging weight as they approached the back porch of Dave's cabin.

"I'm not mad," Hotch replied tersely, one hand gripping the wooden rail as he leaned more heavily against Emily, his aching back protesting every horrendous step they took. "I'm irritated. There's a difference."

"I warned you I wouldn't be party to cold-blooded murder," Emily replied, frowning as Hotch winced. "But I'm sorry you got hurt," she added quickly, catching the glint in his expressive ebony gaze.

"My body will recover," Hotch ground out, relieved to see the back door within grasp. "My pride, however," he said, as Emily pushed open the door and helped him step up the last rise, "is another matter entirely."

Four sets of eyes swiveled toward them as Emily helped Hotch inside the brightly lit kitchen.

"What the hell happened to you, man?" Morgan asked, his jaw dropping as a disheveled, dirty Aaron Hotchner sank into the kitchen chair Emily quickly pulled out for him.

"Did the turkey beat you up, daddy?" Jack Hotchner asked, running toward his father enthusiastically, his little arms held out in anticipation.

"Yeah, did it, Aaron?" David Rossi smirked around his coffee cup as he watched Aaron grimace as Jack threw himself at his incapacitated father. The grin turned to a wince, however, as JJ landed a blow to the back of his head.

"That animal is evil," Hotch said succinctly, nodding gratefully at Emily as she eased Jack away and redirected him back to his coloring book in the corner.

"Are you telling me that my Thanksgiving dinner is still walking around the barn, Boss Man?" Penelope Garcia asked pertly from her position by the stove. Newly arrived, she'd quickly usurped the position of Kitchen Commander, which her personalized apron declared her to be. Looking from a stone faced Hotch to a guilty Emily Prentiss, she demanded, waving a wooden spoon, "Well, somebody speak!"

"Yes, Aaron, King of the Great Turkey Neutralizers, tell us all about it," Dave goaded, his eyes twinkling merrily.

"I hate you, Dave," Hotch grumbled, barely stifling a moan as he attempted to slip off his jacket.

"He gave it a good effort," Emily added loyally. "He just couldn't quite do it. He did do a very good job at ruffling the gobbler's tail feathers, though."

Affronted, Hotch glared at the woman beside him. "I would have had him, if Princess Prentiss here" he said, jerking his head toward Emily, "...had come down off her throne. You screamed like a girl," he accused, his own voice rising in inflection.

"I am a girl," Emily retorted, arching a brow as she leaned over to help him loosen his arm from the particularly uncooperative sleeve.

Blinking as she listened to the argument in front of her, Penelope Garcia banged her spoon against the counter as she ordered, "Focus, amigos and amigas! We are currently down one incredibly key ingredient to my famed Thanksgiving feast."

"Garcia," Dave shook his head, "If you met this bird, you'd understand."

"What I understand, Agent Aimless, is that currently my dinner is happily ensconced in your cozy barnyard instead of this perfectly preheated oven," she retorted, thumbing toward the stove behind her. "How is it that two of the most coveted agents in the FBI could not bring me the head of one simple turkey? You hunt serial killers for a living, for the love of Apple computer!"

"Allow me to reiterate that said turkey had no desire to die," Rossi objected, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed Garcia with a raised brow.

"I concur," Hotch groaned, shifting painfully in his straight backed seat.

"Seconded," Emily nodded in agreement, grabbing her abandoned coffee mug and moving toward the waiting carafe on the counter.

Shrugging, JJ shook her head at Garcia. "It was supposed to come prepped, Garcia. What more can we say?"

Shaking her head, Garcia turned on her heel and began searching through the kitchen drawers. "Aha!" Garcia victoriously shouted, yanking out her chosen weapon and brandishing the knife at the kitchen table. "Come on, my Chocolate God of Thunder. We're going turkey hunting," she smiled, imitating Elmer Fudd with a skill that would have made Warner Brothers proud.

Pausing, his coffee cup midway to his lips, Morgan's eyes rounded as he watched Penelope slice her knife-wielding hand through the air with a flourish. "I...ah...Baby Girl," he said hesitantly, hugely resistant to the idea of accompanying a knife-packing pissed-off Garcia anywhere. "Are you sure that's really our best plan?"

"It's our only plan, my Prince," Penelope declared, glaring at their combined colleagues. "Bonnie and Clyde here couldn't get the job done," she said, nodding toward Hotch and Garcia. "And Ralph and Alice's efforts were puny at best," she said, tossing her head toward Dave and JJ.

"Ralph and Alice?" Emily echoed softly, staring down in confusion at Hotch.

"The Honeymooners," Hotch sighed, rubbing his sore shoulder. Damn, how many times had his body hit the ground anyway?

"The who?" Emily replied, perplexed.

"Don't ask, I'll explain later," Hotch shook his head, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the chair.

"Not much on pop American icons, are you, Prentiss?" Morgan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening.

"Well, prepare to play Sonny to my Cher, Hot Stuff, because I've got you, babe," Penelope interjected meaningfully, looking at Morgan and pointing toward the back door.

"Ah, hell," Morgan groaned, shoving himself away from the table. Glaring from Dave to Hotch, he muttered, "This is all your faults!"

"Would you hurry up, Slow Poke," Penelope called impatiently from her perch on the porch. "Mama needs a drumstick for dinner!"

**XXX**

Holding the barn door open for Garcia, Morgan sighed. "Baby Girl, I think I need to remind you that your fine piece of chocolate candy isn't exactly qualified for this. I'm a city boy, angel."

"Fine," Penelope hissed over her shoulder, her grip tightening on her weapon of choice. "Imagine our fine feathered friend is a gang banger that ticked off your shapely butt."

"Not exactly the same thing," Morgan complained loudly, following the determined blonde inside the barn. Grimacing, Morgan pressed a hand to his nose as he pulled his jacket tighter. "What the hell is that smell?"

"It's a barn, Derek," Penelope whispered, "It's not gonna smell like a bed of roses. Now, hush," she said, throwing back her unarmed hand to slap his ripped abdomen. "There he is," she said with barely concealed joy, pointing at the turkey strutting across the floor.

"Uh huh," Morgan said, giving the bird a leery look. Why the hell did that thing seem to be calculating how quickly he could perch on his bald head and peck out his eyeballs?

"Here, turkey, turkey, turkey," Penelope crooned sweetly, smiling at the bird as she snapped her fingers.

"I don't think it's gonna respond like a cat, Mama," Morgan snorted, warily watching the gobbler as it paced in front of them, pausing every so often to gobble what he was sure translated into turkeyfied obscenities at them.

"It's worth a try," Garcia muttered at him, her eyes still trained on the soon-to-be dinner. "More than you're doing to help. Do something useful and grab that rope over there," she said, nodding to the coiled rope looped over a post in the corner.

"For what?" Morgan asked, doing as she asked despite his tone.

"You're gonna lasso this beast and I'm gonna cut his scrawny head off," Penelope retorted, gesturing wildly with her knife.

Shocked at the bloodlust he saw in her eyes, Morgan yelped, "Do I look like freakin' John Wayne to YOU, Angel Face?"

"Yippy Kay Yay, mother..." Penelope returned, her words abruptly halted by two of Derek's fingers.

"A family friendly feast, remember, Mama?" he reminded her sternly, glaring down at her as he arched one brow.

"Crud," Penelope muttered from behind his hand. Swatting the limb away, she huffed. "I can't help it, D. I'm starving! And this creature," she said, turning her head toward the gobbling turkey, "is hampering my meal."

Heaving a heavy sigh, Derek looked at the rope in his hand. "Okay, then, Sweetness. Saddle up, cowboy!"

**XXX**

Forty-five minutes later, the dirty, discouraged duo returned to the house. Turkeyless.

Slamming the door behind her, Penelope leaned weakly against it and stared at the gathered group.

"What happened?" Reid, the newest arrival to their motley crew asked, looking up from playing with Henry in his high chair.

"All those rumors you hear about turkeys being cowards..." Penelope breathed tiredly, seeing the chorus of nods around the room. "All LIES," she shouted, stomping her foot against the ceramic tile in frustration. Wiping at the mud caked on her face, she shook her head.

"So," Dave said with a smirk, barely controlling the sense of glee from overtaking him, "No turkey?"

"Not from me," Morgan shook his head, dusting off his shirt, particles of dirt and hay fluttering to the floor. "I conceded defeat when she," he said, jabbing a hand at the woman he, until the last hour, had adored, "...shoved my ass in the rafters of that monstrosity you call a barn!"

"May I ask a question?" Reid asked innocently.

"What?" six angry voices retorted in unison, all turning to stare suspiciously at the youngest member of their team.

"Has anyone tried to reason with the turkey?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: My co-author and I would like to announce that our core stories (Sunday and Monday weekly publications) will be on hiatus for the weekend after Thanksgiving (an American Holiday on November 25, 2010). Due to familial obligations, we do believe there will be a week break on those ongoing stories. We will continue to publish one-shots and shorter stories through the holiday week.**

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**Thanks and Thanks and Ever Thanks**

**Chapter Four**

**Prompt: All of Us - "Pass the Peas"**

"So, you see," Dr. Spencer Reid said solemnly, gesturing toward the bird in front of him, "It's the evolutionary cycle of life. It's nothing personal at all," Reid assured the gobbler, his hand dropping to the hammer laid precisely at his side on the wooden railing inside Rossi's barn.

"Gobble," the turkey retorted, bobbing its head as if to methodically object to Reid's carefully laid out theory.

"I assume that you disagree," Reid murmured, nodding supportively, "but, I assure you that my scientific data is completely accurate. You eat the feed, we eat you, our bodies return to the earth from whence your dietary sustenance is derived. It's simple, really."

"Gobble, gobble," the turkey protested, scratching its clawed foot against the hay strewn floor of the barn, his head cocked to the side.

"Now, Tom…I can call you Tom, right?" Reid asked, cocking his head as the turkey appeared to narrow his beady eyes. "I suppose I can understand your discontent, but I feel I should remind you that your ultimate purpose from the moment your egg hatched was to fulfill your destiny as a meal," Reid nodded, his fingers tapping against the hammer beside him.

But apparently, the freakish fowl was determined to voice his objections to the good doctor's assertions. Just as Reid raised his hammer-filled hand, the turkey let out a screech worthy of an irate two-year old, his wings flapping wildly as he bounced his way across the short distance to his would-be attacker.

Taking a rapid step backwards, Reid swallowed hard as he felt the rush of cool air against his hands. Now that was unexpected, his logical mind remarked. Wasn't this turkey supposed to be domesticated…which meant he did not fly? "Perhaps I should better explain my position, Tom," Reid said with a weak smile as he carefully watched the supposed Thanksgiving dinner move even closer. Letting out a gust of breath, he felt his eyes widen as the turkey in front of him seemed to size up his opponent, he added, his tongue suddenly tied, "Or..or… maybe now is the time to test the theory of retreating in order to live to fight another day!"

Mentally gauging the distance to the nearby wooden barn door, Spencer took a wide step to his left, moving quickly out into the open yard. But a quick glance over his shoulder assured him that his prey had quickly become the predator and was obviously well on his heels.

Picking up the pace as he felt a peck to the back of his leg, Spence started jogging as he said, voice high, "Tom, I feel that we got off to a bad start. I've always supported fowl rights! You can ask anyone!"

An angry squawk, followed by what Reid could only describe as a gobbled growl, filled the cool fall air then, and Reid yelped as another peck snapped against his heel. Adding some speed to his rapid retreat, he called over his shoulder, "Please feel free to enjoy your holiday in the comfort of the barn! I'll be sure to relay your regards to the rest of the team!"

Expecting to feel yet another snip against his skin, Reid realized seconds later that he had been left unaccosted. And if he wasn't mistaken, he no longer heard any irate war cries from his pursuer. Slowing his steps, Reid hazarded a glance over his shoulder just in time to see the turkey sway on his stick-like legs, then fall heavily to the ground with a thud. His steps faltering, Reid bit his lip as he wondered what the proper protocol was for reviving the non-human version of an unsub. Retracing his steps, he stood over the collapsed bird. Slowly easing his foot out in the direction of Tom's turkey toes, Reid barely tapped his shoe against the wrinkled skin.

Which he immediately realized was a mistake. As Tom the Turkey experienced a miraculous resurrection, his turkey wings flapping mightily as he came back to life, Reid suddenly found himself plopped on the ground, his posterior pounding against the grass. And as the sound of blood-thirsty gobbles filled the air, Reid came to one stunning conclusion.

Logic was not a viable option when negotiating with a maniacal turkey intent on taking hostages!

**/*/**

As the seven members of the BAU team encircled David Rossi's long oval dining room table, two offspring in tow, each realized that they'd never fought harder for a meal in their life.

Even if it hadn't been the original feast they'd intended when the day had began.

The table, adorned with every Thanksgiving side dish imaginable...yams, cornbread stuffing, green bean casserole, hand mashed potatoes...all formed an inviting circle around their main dish.

A super supreme pizza from the only pizzeria open in delivery distance.

Shaking his head as he stared at the food before him, David Rossi rolled his eyes as Hotch groaned as Emily helped him into his seat, his hand pressed to his back. Next to him, Spencer Reid threw a cushion onto his seat, gingerly sitting upon his injured turkey tortured tuckus. Exchanging a look with JJ, he noticed her twitching lips as she took a chair beside a still grumbling Penelope Garcia, being seated by a wisely silent Derek Morgan.

Waiting a moment until each person had been seated, Dave looked around at his makeshift family. "Should we give thanks?" he asked, his tone even in spite of his half-smile.

"For what?" Garcia huffed under her breath, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes as she glared at the unattractive pizza box in the center of the table.

"I think that would be a wonderful idea," JJ nodded, her voice clear as she elbowed Garcia in the ribs.

Nodding in response, Dave bowed his head. "Heavenly Father, we come together to thank you for the bountiful blessings that have been bestowed this holiday season on the family gathered round this table. Thank you for the food laid before us. While an unusual assortment, Lord, we trust Your Hand was at work in arranging for Divine Intervention with our fine feathered friend outside. We ask that you bless each one sitting at this table as we partake in this Thanksgiving feast. Father, we again thank you for this day...for this food. Forgive us our sins. In Christ's name, Amen."

A chorus of "Amens" was heard around the table. And one very distinct, "Gobble, Gobble," was heard as Tom the Turkey pecked against the glass dining room window, his head bobbing approvingly.

"Freaking turkey," Penelope Garcia muttered, slamming her hand against the glass with a vengeance.

"You gotta give the bird points for perseverance," Morgan grinned, looking over his shoulder at the gobbler watching them.

"Tell that to my chiropractor," Hotch grumbled, wincing as he shifted in his seat.

"Maybe we should all just look at this as a bonding experience," Emily murmured, offering Hotch an amused sidelong glance as she reached for her wine glass.

"I likes pizza better than turkey anyways," Jack chirped between them, his grin wide as he stared hungrily at the green and red box.

"That's the spirit, Jack," JJ grinned at the little boy across the table as she spooned a bite of yams into Henry's open mouth.

"All I know is that I fully intend to contact the producers of Wild America," Reid grimaced, his stinging butt protesting as he moved on the cushion. "I'm fairly certain that animal his razor blades imbedded in his beak. I think he'd make a riveting expose."

"I can see it now," Morgan grinned as he opened the pizza box, the aroma of pepperonis and melted cheese filling the air. "Gutsy Gobblers Gone Wild..."

As laughter filtered around the table, David Rossi rolled his eyes. "Somebody, pass the peas."

_**Finis**_


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